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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443065">Nachtschwärmer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa'>Wallissa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Feral Bruce Wayne, First Meetings, Getting Together, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, vaguely slow burn?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:42:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29443065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What kind of man comes to the conclusion that the best way to change the world for the better is to dress up as a bat?”</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Clark Kent is part-time reporter, part-time hero, and full-time Sunshine. When he and six other heroes decide that it might be a good idea to join forces, he finds himself drawn to the shadow prowling the streets of Gotham. </p><p>Bruce Wayne is a kaleidoscope of snarls and black silk, a sharp jawline and graceful violence, fluttering hands and smeared lipstick, leather gloves and whirlwind-anecdotes, and Clark is hopelessly, helplessly fascinated.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Inspired by RobPatt’s comment that his Batman will be as “crazy and perverse” as his other roles, here’s an interpretation of Bruce as the ideal RP character. Feral, eccentric, fiercely egocentric and borderline obscene.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nachtschwärmer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“And then what, you just pull a suit jacket over this and get on public transport for a nine to five?” Aquaman gestures at Clark’s chest. He doesn’t seem to feel the cold, but in the orange light of the streetlamp they gathered under, the ice in his hair glitters like scattered diamonds. </p><p>Clark shrugs with a slight smile. “I mean, yeah. I like to eat, you know?”<br/>
He’s not sure what time it is, exactly, since the sun only rises at around half past seven, but it can’t be earlier than six. That means he has to get home as soon as possible, or Perry might have a few things to say that’ll make the whole “nine to five” aspect of his life a bit difficult. </p><p>Apart from that, if the noise of the fight didn’t alert anyone so far and the security drones haven’t picked up on it yet, the pile of smouldering metal that used to be a six metre tall robot might draw the attention of someone who happens to come by the deserted factory area in the outskirts of Metropolis. People walk their dogs at the most inopportune times and at the most unfortunate places, Clark knows from experience. And that someone would most definitely notice the seven bizarrely dressed individuals standing around in a circle under the nearest streetlamp. So he turns his head, thus indicating to the last person in their little group that it’s his turn to formally introduce himself.</p><p>The Bat has carefully stepped out of the circle of artificial light. With the cloak pooling down his shoulders and the lenses in his mask shimmering dully, he looks like a vague pencil sketch of a nightmare, creeping around the corners of a dark bedroom. Clark can hear his heartbeat, though, decidedly not undead. He shifts a little, a ripple of shadows.</p><p>“Bruce Wayne.”</p><p>His voice is higher than expected, but alarmingly rough. During the fight, he hadn’t displayed any sign of injury, but now Clark turns more fully towards him to have a subtle look at his throat. Lead-lined suit, unfortunately, but before he can ask whether the man is hurt, multiple things happen at once.</p><p>“No <i>way.</i>” Green Lantern exclaims, <i>loudly</i>, while at the same time, Wonder Woman says “You’re human?” in a disbelieving and somewhat alarmed tone. </p><p>“Yes,” the Bat says simply, then he clears his throat a little. It doesn’t sound like he got a hit to the trachea, at least, but it could be a nasty cold in the making. While they were trying to defeat the metal colossus with the suspicious LC brand between its gleaming green eyes, the cold hadn’t been as apparent, but now they’re all standing still and the February night sinks around them like lead. Clark is a little tempted to offer his cape, but it’s not like the Bat doesn’t have his own.</p><p>“I thought you were a vampire or something. <i>Bruce Wayne</i>?” Green Lantern leans in a little, squinting at the shadows. His cheeks are pink and the cut on his lower lip bleeds sluggishly, a drop threatening to fall into the trampled down snow to leave some unfortunate DNA evidence.</p><p>“Keep your voice down, please,” the Bat says, then steps in a little. His biceps almost brushes Clark’s shoulder and the yellow light spills over the sharp contours of the mask, the elegant line of his jaw. “Maybe we can talk about this later. I hate to cut this short, but the police are going to show up any moment now, and I don’t want to be here when they do.” </p><p>A pause, he tilts his head a little. “Let’s –“ He shakes his head, frowning even as he makes the suggestion. “Let’s meet up.” Another pause, shorter this time, before he continues, sounding more determined. “We should. Next Wednesday.”</p><p>Clark pauses to think. They have their weekly on Wednesdays, but it ends at around half past two. He can probably step out after. “What about three?”</p><p>The Bat turns his head to look at him and Clark watches the abstract patterns of light and shadow flit over his half-concealed face.<br/>
“I can do three.”</p><p>~*~</p><p>It only takes Clark two minutes to get home, but his alarm clock tells him it’s ten past seven, so he leaves the suit in an untidy mess on the bathroom floor and speeds through his routine. </p><p>A terribly brief moment of peace under scalding hot water to wash the cold from his limbs and the scent of burning rubber out of his hair. Mint toothpaste frothing in his mouth at super speed, then he reaches for his can of shaving cream. In lieu of searching for a rag, he has to wipe his hand over the fogged-up mirror, leaving a moist smudge on the glass and a reflection that’s more impressionistic than true to life. It’s not the best shave, but good enough and he drops the razor in favour of picking up a wet comb. </p><p><i>Clark Kent, Reporter</i> betrays his Smallville roots by hating the sharp wind that cuts through the streets of Metropolis from early November to March, so Clark wears a blue jumper over his button down. Pine-scented gel still sticks to his fingers when he pulls on his coat and shoes, then he’s halfway out of the door not ten minutes after arriving.  Just before locking the door, however, he rushes back and adds a scarf as well, the vague impression of a sore throat at the back of his mind.</p><p>Shortly after, he’s on the streets again, rushing down to the bus station as fast as he can dare to be. The bus is perfectly on time.<br/>
Not three minutes later, he’s standing by the door, listening to a woman reading to her toddler while sporty individuals in pinstripes rush past on bikes. When the bus halts at a red light, the morning sun with its lemon-tinted light falls through the windows and Clark can feel the slight fatigue of the night melt from him, the sting in his eyes lessen. He stands still, face turned into the light, and when he catches the toddler looking at him curiously, gives them a bright smile. It’s starting to feel like a good morning.</p><p>After consulting his watch one last time to confirm that he’s not running late anymore, he gets off a stop early at the Picturesque Palazzo. During this time of the year, the fountains are turned off and instead of water, cascades of fake roses seem to spill over the marble basin, dripping in glittering lights and heart-shaped ornaments. The artificial tree-like structures with solar panels that supply the energy for the streetlamps and CV cams have been decked out with ornaments as well and the grey concrete seems to glitter with a last trace of early morning frost. </p><p>It feels romantic, really, and Clark breathes little clouds of contempt into the cold air. He stops at the bakery stand close to the XVIIIth street and spends just enough time chatting with Sweet Steven to almost be late after all.</p><p>~*~</p><p>It’s eight am and five minutes when he speedwalks past the frosted windows of Perry’s office, head low and a paper bag with a cinnamon bun and a croissant in one hand, a hazelnut macchiato in the other. There’s a little patch of sunshine on his desk and when he sits down, he can feel it in his hair and on the nape of his neck, golden and sweet. As his computer boots up, he just sits, eyes closed, and lets the sun and the scent of coffee and the tac tac tac of Lois’ fingers on her keyboard wake him up fully. It <i>is</i> a good morning.</p><p>Two minutes later, he enters his password. He stares at his screensaver, a big wheatfield during the golden hours of the afternoon, then rolls his chair to the side a bit to look around his screen at his desk partner on the other side. “Lois?” </p><p>“Sweetheart?” She takes a sip of her coffee, but doesn’t look up from her screen. The rapt sound of her fingers on the keyboard continues.</p><p>“You ever heard of Bruce Wayne?” </p><p>There’s a pause in her typing, but no answer. Maybe Clark should’ve just googled, he thinks. Damn, too late. He hurries to add something. “I overheard the name on the bus this morning and I thought he sounded important, but I’ve never heard of him back home, so I figured I’d better ask.”<br/>
That angle usually works. Smallville, etc etc. Growing up between golden fields and cows, one school, one computer in the local library. No store-bought apple pie, no chain restaurants, no big town celebs.</p><p>“That’s more of a question for Kristie, really.” She leans back in her chair, glancing at him from over her laptop. “She could tell you his whole biography, I think. But as far as I’m concerned, Bruce Wayne is the Playboy Prince of Gotham.”</p><p>“What,” Clark says, head empty.</p><p>Lois laughs at his flat expression, but he doesn’t really pay attention, too intrigued by this completely unexpected new piece of information. “I’m not surprised the name didn’t come up in Smallville, it’s not like he’s an important political figure. He’s got a following on twitter, I think, but he never does anything interesting.” </p><p>She pauses, then shrugs. “Interesting enough to impact Smallville, that is. Or Metropolis, for that matter.” Another pause and she looks at the ceiling, twirling a pencil between her fingers as she ponders the question. “I mean, he sometimes pops up to sleep with some model or starlet over here, or wear a dress on the subway or something, but, you know –“ She looks at him and loses track of her sentence. “You alright there?”</p><p>Clark closes his mouth with a click and shrugs, picking up his cup to hide behind. “I- I don’t know, I guess that’s not what I expected? So he’s like, what, a model? An actor?”</p><p>“Oh, I wouldn’t call him either. He’s just some rich, eccentric womaniser.” Her expression is somewhere between curious and suspicious. “Why, what did you hear?”</p><p>“I didn’t really hear much, but I didn’t expect the whole – sex fiend part, I guess. Took me off guard, is all. But it makes sense, I suppose?” Rich makes sense, that is. Clark shrugs, turning to his desktop. “It’s not really important. Thank you for telling me.”</p><p>“Sure thing,” Lois says, turning back to her own work as well. “And as I said, if you want to know anything else, just ask Kristie. She’s a bit of a fangirl.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Clark says in a distracted voice as he opens his browser, acting the part of someone who’s already half-forgotten the topic of conversation. “Will do. Thanks again.”</p><p>Bruce Wayne.</p><p>The second result is a Wikipedia article that’s also being shown at the side, offering birthyear (1986), occupation (“Model, Social Media Personality”) and a row of ex partners.<br/>
The first result is a headline – “Brucie Wayne swears off cocaine for Coco Celine?”. </p><p>Clark skips to pictures. </p><p>There’s a wide array of photos, glossy, grainy, flash in the dark. Professional shots, red carpets and galas, streetstyle papsnaps, and in all of them, Bruce Wayne is undoubtedly the centre of attention. </p><p>Dark blond with light eyes, pale, sharp features. Fashionably slim. Bruce Wayne is an attractive man and he knows it, too, angling himself towards the camera in most shots, smouldering, tilting his head, showing off the dip of his waist, his broad shoulders.</p><p>There’s an occasional splash of colour, but for the most part, the clothes are an endless sea of black. However, there’s still altogether too much going on for a Thursday morning. Leather, gloves, feathers and pearls, tulle, glitter and silk, embroidered velvet, flashes of pale skin. Clark scrolls past quickly, feeling intrusive and a little flushed, his head is spinning a bit with the whirlwind of fabric and skin, obscure costumes from a Midsummer Night’s dream performance set in some kind of goth-industrial Neverland. </p><p>And, of course, there’s girls. A whole sea of them, ever-changing faces, laughing or pouting for the camera with a hand on their waists, their shoulders, the small of their backs. Tan skin and pastel coloured silk, glitter and lace. </p><p>And there’s guys, too, which is surprising yet not. Beach-handsome faces and black suits. White teeth and gleaming hair, grinning or pouting, a hand on their waists, their shoulders, the small of their backs. Clark closes the tab. Stares at his coffee.</p><p>Bruce Wayne is an attractive man, and if Clark hadn’t seen that sharp jaw, the shape of his mouth, he wouldn’t believe in a million years that this man had any resemblance to the nightmare with the sore throat he saw prey open the chest plate of a giant robot, tearing at cables with gloved hands. What kind of man comes to the conclusion that the best way to change the world for the better is to dress up as a bat?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>First things first: Thank you so much for reading!!!!!!!</p><p>I've been talking about this specifc thing for more than a year now and I'm so, so happy to finally publish the first chapter of this fic!! Feral Bruce truly has been living in my head rent-free. </p><p>On that note - he's also been living on my <a href="https://typinggently.tumblr.com">writing tumblr!</a> If you'd like to join in on the fun - I used the tag "feral bruce hours" for those musings. Unfortunately, I can't link that specific tag here (bc formatting and the spaces between the words, I didn't really think about that when I made the tag...), but you can find <a href="https://typinggently.tumblr.com/post/643132722336989184/ch1-sore-throa">a post</a> for this fic here, and the tag is the first :')</p><p> </p><p>Just like I'm going off the rails with Feral Bruce, I'm taking my liberties with Metropolis (and Gotham, later on). I'm just having a blast imagining this scrubbed-clean, futuristic, glittering place (where def not all is gold that glitters, let's just say that right away).</p><p>The usual disclaimer: I'm not a native speaker and I'm really sorry if it shows!!</p><p>Thank you so much for reading (again)! If you liked it, consider leaving a heart or even a comment? &lt;3<br/>See you soon!!</p><p>P.S.: while we wait for the second chapter (I hope to upload it Monday in 2 weeks!!), you can have a look at <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762516">Pink Drawing Room</a>, the little Feral Bruce Valentine's Day fic I wrote exactly one year ago!<br/>Happy Valentine's Day!!!! xoxo</p></blockquote></div></div>
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